Ah-Loth (Three Plains/Planes)

I had heard the echoes of the lost calling to me from the city's most prominent temple. The echoes called out from the Astral Planes, where I was born. The darkest monstrosities come from that world. Even I am considered to be a being of evil.

The temple was dedicated to the omnipotent titan who rules all of astral-kind. Lothos. Here in the Terran Plane, those who escape Lothos's clutches live within a devastated island, known as Ah-Loth.

A gate from our realm, the Astral Plane, was opened in the Terran Plane. A light from the Terran world's heavenly bodies was release late one night. People from the "Earth", as they call it, believed this to be a catastrophe, the end of their world; the largest and most renown city in their world was sunk by this fallen star. It was a blessing to us.

The cathedral of which our god dwells was built in this new world. The fallen star was the product of an attack against Lothos. A hero among astrocities, Uurlok. He led a rebellion against the titan, but was obliterated by He who enslaves us. The titan lost an eye during the attack of Uurlok and his men. Because Lothos lost an eye, a gate to the Terran Plane was opened for a short period of time. The many slaves of the Astral realm had escaped to the Terran world, and spawned in the land, which was nothing more than a wasteland, but the escaped called it home: Ah-Loth.

The cries grew louder as I approached his statue. Anguish and sorrow beset my heart and tears grew within the heights of my cheeks.

A proud monument to his sin; he stood piercing the titan's right eye with a long, heavy sword. The expression of the titan's face could not foster the agony the titan had felt, nor could an artist depict the suffering Uurlok should feel as he was promptly ripped to pieces by the titan's gaping maw.

I presented my offering to his statue so that I might appease his cries for another day.

The titan watches from his void while the Terrans sleep.

Dream, dream, O restless ones, you may never dream. Kneel before the savior of astrocity kind, the giver of salvation and freedom, so that we might steal yours away.

Capitulation

A sharp, yet defined rap echoed through my hall as I was seated upon my throne, gazing into the sands of my hourglass.




The last few grains trickled down the bulb, and the rap grew into a cacophony of hands, beating at the iron spiked door of oak, coated with the greens of moss.




I saw the face of an old man, staring back at me from the reflection of the glass. His face scarred with wrinkles and littered with cuts and bruises.




I saw myself, of course.




The rapping grew into a steady and continuous pounding. Cries of anguish could be heard from outside the powerful door, holding back all the angry and crazed hands. I raised my hand from the armrest and slew the watch glass to the ground; it's contents lay splayed about my court on the marble tiles.




Louder and louder, they had beaten down the first door.




The captain of the guard and his men stood before the souls. Their plate emblazoned with the luminosity of the mob's torch.




"Schießen!" the guard ordered. The royal guard stood with their pikes in hand, forming a strong wall that prevented the advance of the mob, and overhead, archers fired volleys into the mob.




The mob, of course, didn't stop at this. Their shouts could be heard from inside my hall. I rose from my throne to my plate. My armor. My blade. Once used to unite my realm with the bonds iron and flesh. No more.

Again, I saw myself. A broken man. Once a proud and honorable monarch, true to his word, true to his people, but now? I am no more.

I walked about my scarlet carpet, leading to the steel doors that lead out onto the facade of which my men where. I found our sculptures. Busts of our family. 

We were once gods. 

There was no one higher than I or my brother.

We were respected by all men and women alike. Where are we now?

I forced the busts to the ground. The beautiful and meticulously carved marble fell to the ground, and shattered.

I no longer heard the commands of my captain. The mob was afoot once again, this time, at the door of steel, ramming the door. I found myself on the balcony, looking over my kingdom, my dominion, my realm. My home.

All in a wave of red and orange.

The mob was finally rushing through my hall.

But when the came to meet me on the balcony, all they found was my crown and blade.

They were not ready for a reign of love and wisdom. Blood and iron was forever in this land. 

Forever the dream of my brother.

Will

I saw him bound on his hands and knees, in a pool of his own sweat. For long, he writhed within his bindings, helplessly trying to piece himself free, his efforts in vain. Incapacitated, he lay there, slump in a pool of his own failure.

Sad, isn't it?

He was beautiful too. A work of God's art, from his long, flowing brown hair, his crisp blue eyes and a very defined nose.

His hair cut, locks scattered in a puddle of blood, which had poured from his now cracked and misshapen nose. What could have done this to him?

One thing.

It is a almost holy thing, talked about all one's life.

It battered his will, once wrought of iron. Tore his mind, cast of gold. Shattered his heart, once of glass.

His cold eyes meet yours and you feel them, piercing your soul, melting your heart.

Everything he does is a blatant attack of your home, your temple. He only seeks now to defile every temple he can; to steal the tithe and upset your font.

Nothing can save him, he is unbound. His soul was swept away from him, as he lay bound. Wisps of smoke rose above his head, the soul sought no more anguish. He forced it from himself.

He feels no longer.

His body is warm.

His touch is cold.

His eyes?

Much colder.

Your temple will become his own. A house of pain and sorrow. He will pray to your god so that he might be set free, but the same of him will happen to you.

You will know sorrow, you will know pain.

He will smash the stained glass windows, mutilate your effigies and destroy your altar.

He will become your god.

He will become all your think of.

All you dream of.

You will have many sleepless nights.

All because you let love crush you the way it had crushed him.

Reditio Naturorum

Dollar sign.

DOLLAR sign.

DOLLAR SIGN.

That's all I see them as. That's all they are. Dollar signs with legs. You think they have heartbeats? What makes you think that they have the same thought capacity as you and me?

Do you see the gods they worship? Silicon bodies and their teeth so perfect? They're royalty.

But truly? No. They simply have more paper than what they know what to do with. Benjamin's pure power, baby. Nothing can stop the almighty dollar sign.

That's why we keep our eyes on them, our dollar signs. These mindless thralls that wander the streets we call ours. All we have is because of them. All they have is because of us.

Without that little ping every so often to make them feel like they're important, they draw less and less away from the almighty dollar sign.

Eventually, they'll see that it's all a sham. They'll realize that it's all a power struggle. It's an obsession.

One big game of "Who the hell can hoard the most paper?".

They dedicate their lives to us, unknowingly, yet willingly.

The more paper they collect, the more powerful they become. That's why they die before they can see the world from where you and I do.

Some of them are more dangerous than others. They see past our ruse, they see our game and they think they're strong enough to become a part of it.

They too, are pawns just as all the rest are.

No matter what the case may be, the mindless demoralize those who speak out against us, shunning the thoughts of those who care to think, who care to try; those who want to make a difference.

Perhaps someday, they might.


WITH THE ADVENT OF MACHINE, Man has achieved many splendors.

Man has even replaced Man with Machine.

The coming of the age of machine means one thing though: The downfall of the almighty dollar sign. The dollar sign will no longer possess the strength of a god, machine will.

Machine will make all of Man return to it's roots. The return to nature.

In troves they will flee from cities to the darkest of shades under canopies that cast a divine shade.

Man will learn once again to work with one another and live in harmony, but in fear of the mad gods who manipulate their machines.

The gods though, will find themselves powerless.

Without their thralls, their workers, their slaves, there is no power to exercise over Man, thus, leaving the gods much less than gods. They simply become false idols.

Without any followers, they lose power, they lose their will. They submit to the power of Man and leave the Machines that they have tried to replace Man with.

The men who once sought to change the hearts of Man have had their wish granted to them. They wish not to abuse the power of leading Man, they only wish for Man to love one another as they have been made to.

They have awaited this day.

The day that Man could finally live in perfect and true harmony with it's home, it's goddess, it's mother.

Earth, the one and only god that Man should and shall ever have.

"Who am I?"

He's watching me and you both. He's around every corner, waiting for us.

Waiting for us at our weakest moment. The moment we crack.

The moment that he can make the bones in our back shatter. He hovers above us like a dark cloud, never allowing us to see the sun.

He torments us.

He dangles our happiness but within an arm's reach in front of us, but every time we grasp for it, he pulls it away.

He is all that is dark and evil in this world. He is soulless, mindless and heartless.

He doesn't even have a body.

He comes to us in the blackness of our shadow. He follows us wherever we go.

He forces us to trip on every rock, fall down every hill we climb and crushes every dream we've dreamt.

I can't speak anymore, he's watching me now as I speak this to you.

Run and hide, before he finds you, like he once had me.

XXI

You can have this head upon my shoulders, so long as it frees me from the burden of having your lovely self running through my mind all day and all night. It's become a struggle to find ways to keep you out of this head of mine. I want no more of it.

You can have this head of mine, so long as I can keep my heart. I wanted you to have it a long time ago, but now, it's all I need to stay alive. All I should care about is myself but still, here you are, sprinting through my mind all day and all night. I tried sharing my love with the world, but the world wasn't ready for it.

This beast will remain caged until the day the world proves itself worthy, or until you come along with that key I handed you, many moons ago.

Instead though, you smashed my chest, tearing tendon from tendon trying to take away from me what was rightfully mine. You claimed my mind and you hungered for my heart. Bone after bone you crushed, word by word, my screams went unheard. 

All you heard was the cracking of my backbone.

You forced me to crumble. You broke my will. I can't stand anymore. You've found my heart and you've taken it as your own.

A long time ago, you lost your own to someone much stronger than I.

He broke your cage, just as you did me. 

How you retain your sanity will forever remain a mystery to me.

So keep running, you horrid and black soul. 

Wherever you might go to run and hide, I know one place you'll always be.

And that place is here, along the track that is my mind.

Humility

It turns out no matter how strong we tell ourselves we are, we will be crushed by the weight of our actions and our words.

All so powerful; they will come back to crush us.

This fellow wouldn't be in this predicament if he hadn't cast his life aside from himself.

Here he lay now, his corpse, now coated in filth, garbage, with maggots writhing beneath his flesh.

A gruesome scene.

He believed himself to be invincible. Was he wrong?

Of course. His ego was his downfall. He let it all go to his head.

He thought he was untouchable.

The kind words of others made him think this way.

He abused them for their words of empowerment.

The flies speak the truth. The pungent scent of rot heavy in the air.

You might ask yourself, "Am I hearing things?" or perhaps, "Where are you?".

I'm watching you. He's watching you. We're all watching you.

You'll crumble just as he has.

This is a wake-up call. A warning.

Your influence that you think yourself to have is nothing but a lie.

You are not the strongest being alive.

He is an example we should all learn from.

Power is a dangerous thing.

Do not give power to fools.

Do not be the fool to receive such power.